Living in unsafe neighborhoods
Commentary
We vacationed recently on Hilton Head Island. It was a way to spend time with our daughter who is a student at the Savannah College of Art and Design nearby. One of the things that impressed us about Hilton Head Island is that if you don't live there, you don't know where things are or how to get to them. Traffic is tightly controlled, especially in residential areas. Most of the housing developments are "gated communities," with access only by way of a single entrance barred by security devices to all but the privileged owners, their guests, and those who serve their needs.
Gated communities, according to a recent article in The Wall Street Journal, are valued partly for their safety and partly for the status they connote. People can choose to live in neighborhoods where others are like them in social class, economic hierarchy, or ethnic background. Gated communities make us feel like we are in control by isolating us from "bad elements," however we might define that term.
Life, however, cannot be lived in a bubble. The movie, Bubble Boy some years ago poked fun at the insanity of trying to remain isolated from the world. Even those who live in medical quarantine because of compromised immune systems would declare such arrangements to be unusual at best and traumatic at worst, and the Bible concurs. We live in mixed neighborhoods, not merely socially, economically, or ethnically. We live in spiritually mixed neighborhoods, where good and evil mix in a murky gray haze, and every virtue is carried by people of vice.
And, it is not only around us, but within us. We are our own worst enemies, at times. We are caught in struggles of the soul that are merely the reflection of our divided hearts. We live in unsafe neighborhoods, and it is often because we have to live with ourselves.
The lectionary passages for today talk about unsafe neighborhoods. Isaac and Rebekah's twin boys made the world unsafe for each other, beginning a fierce battle already before birth. Paul writes of spiritual struggles in unsafe neighborhoods that look a lot like our own restless hearts, and Jesus tells a good old farming story that hinges on fields being far less homogeneous in character than one might suspect when driving through America's vast plains states. No matter where we live, it is an unsafe neighborhood spiritually, and it calls us to remember where we find refuge.
Genesis 25:19-34
Genesis was composed out of several literary threads and with a couple of clearly obvious structural plans. The "Creation Story plus Ten Genealogies" (2:4--4:26; 5:1--6:8; 6:9--9:29; 10:1--11:9; 11:10-26; 11:27--25:11; 25:12-18; 25:19--35:29; 36:1--37:1; 37:2--50:26) is the most obvious. In this organizational structure each "genealogy" (Hebrew toldoth) carries a morally weighted value. Here, at the beginning of the Jacob story the genealogy identifies two things: first, that Jacob will be the winner and will carry the continuity of the positive moral story initiated through Abraham. Second, this story will have negative dimensions that make it far less than a pristine hero story with unalloyed virtues. Jacob will be the winner of the special covenant relationship with God, the main character of Genesis. But Jacob will carry this reward in spite of himself and not because of it.
A second major literary structure guiding the development of the book of Genesis is that of major story cycles. Four major story cycles emerge, each giving a different "big picture" view: the story of Origins (chs. 1-11), the story of Abraham (chs. 12-25), the story of Jacob (chs. 26-36), and the story of Joseph (chs. 37-50). Included within each of these there are many other little stories like the one we read today. But it is important to read each little story within the context of the larger story cycle in which it is found. For the nation of Israel, receiving the covenant at Mount Sinai (Exodus 20-24), each of these story cycles in Genesis asked and answered a fundamental question of identity:
*Origins story cycle (chs. 1-11): Why is God making this covenant with us? Because this world is the creation and kingdom of God, and it is in civil war against God.
*Abraham story cycle (chs. 12-25): Who are we that God should come to us with this covenant? We are the descendents of the chosen son of Abraham, through whom the covenant was originated.
*Jacob story cycle (chs. 26-36): What is our character? We are tricksters and con artists like our father Jacob, but we are also "Israel" like him -- those who wrestle with God.
*Joseph story cycle (chs. 37-50): Why were we in Egypt rather than in the land of God's promise to Abraham? Because of a famine and Joseph's protective care.
When these two literary structures are overlaid, some helpful interpretive ideas emerge for today's reading. First, since the nation of Israel lingering at Mount Sinai is searching for its identity, it must encounter the origins of its name. "Israel" emerges from "Jacob," and each of those names deepens its identity. Here, in brief summary, the character of "Jacob" is revealed. Jacob is a fighter (v. 22). Jacob is discontent (v. 23). Jacob makes his own way in life (v. 26). Jacob is quiet but shrewd (v. 27). Jacob is a "Mama's Boy" (v. 28). Jacob is cunning (v. 31). Jacob has no family loyalty (v. 33).
Regardless of how favored the nation of Israel might have felt in its recent release from Egypt and slavery, this story of origins must have caused them to pause. They were born of tainted stock. Deception and scrappiness was bred in their bones. They made every neighborhood in which they lived unsafe.
Second, the reality of God's special plan for Jacob's life was revealed already at birth. Despite opposition, despite second-son disfavored status, despite scrawniness, despite machismo, Jacob would carry the baton in the relay race of God's special blessing. So it is with Israel. Size is not guarantee of success (cf. Israel versus Egypt). But neither is scrappiness -- Jacob does not get the prize on his own strength, no matter how cunning he may be. It is God's prize to offer and God's prize to give.
Third, carrying the baton in the relay race of the Genesis covenant story does not guarantee peace and delight. It actually brings Jacob into constant struggle, as evinced in his birthing battle with his brother. Jacob will not become "Israel" -- one who wrestles with God -- until Jacob has lived a long time on a very unsafe battlefield.
Romans 8:1-11
The Heidelberg Catechism, written by Oleveanus and Ursinus in the capital city of the Palatinate of the Holy Roman Empire in 1563, is a great resource for understanding Paul's letter to the Romans. Oleveanus and Ursinus used the structure of Paul's argument to shape their summary of the Christian faith. In large outline, each document is developed in three sections that may be headed sin (Romans 1-3), salvation (Romans 4-11), and service (Romans 12-16). The plight of humanity (Romans 1-3) calls out the redemptive care of God (Romans 4-11) which creates a new consciousness of what it means to be in God's family (Romans 12-16). Here in Romans 8, Paul brings great confidence to those he took through the dicey spiritual struggles of chapters 6-7. Now confidence rings out, not because we move out of an unsafe neighborhood into a safe one, but because the power of Jesus is greater than the power of evil that resides within us.
Paul ties spiritual growth and victory directly to Good Friday and Easter in the bookends of this passage (8:1-3, 10-11). A recent award-winning song plays out this theme in a rather down-to-earth way. In Tim McGraw's musical tale, "Live Like You Were Dying," the singer meets a man who was told that he has cancer and that his lifespan has just shrunk to less than a calendar. Instead of self-pity, the victim relates that he found a new lease on life. He began to live each day as if it were his last, and only do the important things. The narrator in the song carries that thought ahead into a new place, telling what the important things of life really might be:
The dying man first tells of some things he had just done that freedom from the fear of dying made possible, like sky diving, mountain climbing, and bull riding. But then he adds some more meaningful things he had done as well: "and I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter and I gave forgiveness I'd been denying." He goes on to say that he was finally being the husband, friend, and son that he should have been all along. He concludes:
Well, I finally read the good book
and I took a good, long, hard look
at what I'd do if I could do it all again....
Paul speaks of the battles of the spirit in each of us, and the choices we have to make to live in ways that matter. We all live in unsafe neighborhoods (such as the battlegrounds of our own inner turmoil and the passions pulling at our hearts), but we still need to choose how we will live in those neighborhoods.
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Jesus' parable of the four soils is sometimes misinterpreted. It is not about the sower or the seed; it is about the soils. A little understanding of first-century Palestinian farming technique is needed to understand what Jesus is saying. In many places of the world, a seedbed is prepared at the end of the previous harvest. Most farmland across the plains of North America are plowed or harrowed in the fall to break up the topsoil in anticipation of spring planting. Not so in ancient Palestine. Once the grain crops were harvested in late spring, the fields were left untouched. A series of events then unfolded that would make Jesus' words much more understandable.
First would come the gleaners. These were the poor people in the neighborhood who would gather stray stalks to reap leftover grain for their meal tables. Next, the cattle would be turned loose into the fields to sniff through the stubble and find kernels that had fallen. The cattle would be a kind of final harvest cleanup crew. Then, however, the fields would become a sort of regional public park where people could wander where they wanted. All people lived in villages or towns and the farmland they owned or worked ringed those villages and towns. During the growing season most were occupied with working the land, but once the harvest had been taken in, trading season began. The traders could travel between villages more directly if they created paths through the fields. Hence, hard-surfaced walkways emerged, and through the summer months weeds would grow wherever they could find moisture.
When winter arrived, and planting time came, the farmers would scope out the boundary lines between fields, scatter their seed, and then plow under all that was on the surface -- regular soil, hard-packed path, and weeds.
Now the meaning of Jesus' tale becomes more clear. The sower scatters seed indiscriminately, even among weeds (which are about to be plowed under), even over rocks (which are not visible because of the stubble), and even on the path (because it is only a temporary traffic pattern). The sower is not wasting good seed, but merely following the best farming customs of the region. When the seed has been scattered, the farmer will come through with a wooden plow harnessed to an ox, and drag open the soils to accept the seed while rooting up the weeds and the path.
All seeds have equal chance to survive, except that not all soils will nurture that life well. Some parts of the field have given themselves over to weeds that are not easily killed with a single pass of the plow. There the weeds, with their deep roots, will survive the farmer's tilling, and will have a head start on the tiny roots that finally germinate from the recent seeding. Some parts of the field will have been packed too hard by the travelers' footprints, and the seeds will sprout quickly, but their fragile roots will not find the moisture of the earth because of a hardpan barrier lingering from the path. Some parts of the field will hide rocks that kill young plants even after they have gotten a promising start.
The meaning, said Jesus, is clear. We all live in unsafe neighborhoods like any farmer's field in Palestine. But, while the seeds and the soils connect in unalterable ways under the farmer's care, the spiritual seed given by God lands on hearts that can change their complexion. We can be our own worst enemies and stiffen up like the path, bouncing the seed elsewhere. We can be hypocritical and deceptive, like the rocky soil which promises more than it delivers. We can lack nerve or will, and twist with prevailing winds of culture, much as the soil still full of old weed roots was. We are the soil, and we can choose to change. We control the relative safety of our own inner spiritual neighborhoods.
Application
A great application for all three of these passages is the story of the 1,000 marbles. It serves to remind each of us that we live in unsafe neighborhoods, but that we can choose to make them come alive with spiritual significance if we keep in step with the Covenant (Genesis 25), the Spirit (Romans 8), or the Sower (Matthew 13).
This is purported to be a conversation over a ham radio set one Saturday morning:
"Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well, but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter's dance recital." He continued, "Let me tell you something Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities."
And that's when he began to explain his theory of "1,000 marbles." "You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about 75 years. I know, some live more and some less, but on average, folks live about 75 years.
"Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3,900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in his/her entire lifetime. Now, stick with me, Tom, I'm getting to the important part.
"It took me until I was 55 years old to think about all this in any detail," he went on, "and by that time I had lived through over 2,800 Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be 75, I only had about 1,000 of them left to enjoy.
"So, I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to roundup 1,000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside a large, clear plastic container right here in the shack next to my gear. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away.
"I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help you get your priorities straight.
"Now, let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday, then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time.
"It was nice to meet you, Tom. I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again."
The application naturally follows. In fact, it could be well illustrated by a jar of marbles and the encouragement for others to go out and buy some.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23. Jesus' parable of the soils begs to be treated by itself. Jesus gives a fine story and also interprets it for us. A fitting message could tease out four images, each related to one of the kinds of soils that felt the seed land on it.
The first image could be that of "historical faith" which shapes the life of one who grew up in the church, but only adopted it as a cultural expression and not as a personal belief. The second image could be that of "experiential faith" which is professed in the hyper-charged atmosphere of an emotional appeal (retreat or conference setting), but lost quickly when other cares and concerns set in. The third image could be that of "foxhole faith" which is declared in times of great crisis as a sort of bargaining chip with God, but which sounds hollow and silly after the crisis passes. The fourth image could be that of "saving faith" which is as natural to a person's character as crops are to good farmland, and which consistently yields a winning spiritual harvest.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 119:105-112
Psalm 119 is a rich treasure-trove of wisdom. The longest of the psalms, it follows an unusual acrostic design, with 22 sections each beginning with a different letter of the Hebrew alphabet. This particular section is filled with various wisdom sayings, of which verse 105 is by far the most familiar: "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path."
That verse offers a familiar, yet important, theme for preaching: an opportunity to teach about the authority of scripture. What can we say about scripture, based on this verse? Several things:
1. Scripture provides illumination for our lives. Seduced by our society's technological might, we have come to believe that we provide our own illumination. This was not true for the ancients, who knew better. Marcus Borg has written, "The symbolism of light and darkness is ancient, archetypal, and cross-cultural. It has many rich resonances of meaning. Darkness is associated with blindness, night, sleep, cold, gloom, despair, lostness, chaos, death, danger, and yearning for the dawn. It is a striking image of the human condition. Light is seen as the antidote to the above, and is thus an image of salvation. In the light, one is awake, able to see and find one's way; it is associated with relief and rejoicing that the night is over; in the light one is safe and warm. In the light there is life." (From "The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions," by Marcus J. Borg and N. T. Wright, in the Christian Century, December 16, 1998, pp. 1218-1221.)
2. The illumination that scripture provides is indirect lighting. Many of us have indirect lighting in our homes. It provides beauty as well as functionality. The lamp mentioned in the psalm shines downward, at the portion of the path immediately ahead. It does not project a spotlight's brilliant glare far down the road, as do many modern electric lights. The "lamp to my feet" is more modest than that. Scripture is more like a simple flashlight than a set of automobile high beams. Yet at the slow pace of foot travel, it is really all a traveler needs. In the words of Jewish biblical scholar Abraham Joseph Heschel, "The surest way of misunderstanding revelation is take it literally, to imagine that God spoke to the prophet on a long-distance telephone. The truth is that things and words stand for different meanings in different situations. Gold means wealth to the merchant, a means of adornment to the jeweler, and kindness to the rhetorician (a golden heart). Light is a form of energy to the physicist, a medium of loveliness to the artist, and an expression of grandeur in the first chapter of the Bible. Ruah, the Hebrew word for spirit, signifies also breath, wind, and direction. And he who thinks only of breath, forfeits the deeper meaning of the word...." (From Between God and Man by Abraham Joseph Heschel [New York: Free Press, 1997].)
3. Scripture is meant to be a constant companion, a light we carry with us. In technically advanced societies like our own, we have long since ceased to be familiar with true darkness. Our cities and towns are constantly washed with light. Starlight is all but unknown. For biblical people, much of life after sundown was lived in darkness. The light a lamp provided was modest and limited. If you ventured out most nights, a lamp was no luxury; it was a necessity. It could be the one thing that kept wild animals at bay, and that kept you from getting lost. Referring to the study of scripture, Harry Emerson Fosdick said, "Read until you stumble upon yourself on its pages." The light of scripture does so much more than illumine the road ahead. It illumines our lives as well.
Gated communities, according to a recent article in The Wall Street Journal, are valued partly for their safety and partly for the status they connote. People can choose to live in neighborhoods where others are like them in social class, economic hierarchy, or ethnic background. Gated communities make us feel like we are in control by isolating us from "bad elements," however we might define that term.
Life, however, cannot be lived in a bubble. The movie, Bubble Boy some years ago poked fun at the insanity of trying to remain isolated from the world. Even those who live in medical quarantine because of compromised immune systems would declare such arrangements to be unusual at best and traumatic at worst, and the Bible concurs. We live in mixed neighborhoods, not merely socially, economically, or ethnically. We live in spiritually mixed neighborhoods, where good and evil mix in a murky gray haze, and every virtue is carried by people of vice.
And, it is not only around us, but within us. We are our own worst enemies, at times. We are caught in struggles of the soul that are merely the reflection of our divided hearts. We live in unsafe neighborhoods, and it is often because we have to live with ourselves.
The lectionary passages for today talk about unsafe neighborhoods. Isaac and Rebekah's twin boys made the world unsafe for each other, beginning a fierce battle already before birth. Paul writes of spiritual struggles in unsafe neighborhoods that look a lot like our own restless hearts, and Jesus tells a good old farming story that hinges on fields being far less homogeneous in character than one might suspect when driving through America's vast plains states. No matter where we live, it is an unsafe neighborhood spiritually, and it calls us to remember where we find refuge.
Genesis 25:19-34
Genesis was composed out of several literary threads and with a couple of clearly obvious structural plans. The "Creation Story plus Ten Genealogies" (2:4--4:26; 5:1--6:8; 6:9--9:29; 10:1--11:9; 11:10-26; 11:27--25:11; 25:12-18; 25:19--35:29; 36:1--37:1; 37:2--50:26) is the most obvious. In this organizational structure each "genealogy" (Hebrew toldoth) carries a morally weighted value. Here, at the beginning of the Jacob story the genealogy identifies two things: first, that Jacob will be the winner and will carry the continuity of the positive moral story initiated through Abraham. Second, this story will have negative dimensions that make it far less than a pristine hero story with unalloyed virtues. Jacob will be the winner of the special covenant relationship with God, the main character of Genesis. But Jacob will carry this reward in spite of himself and not because of it.
A second major literary structure guiding the development of the book of Genesis is that of major story cycles. Four major story cycles emerge, each giving a different "big picture" view: the story of Origins (chs. 1-11), the story of Abraham (chs. 12-25), the story of Jacob (chs. 26-36), and the story of Joseph (chs. 37-50). Included within each of these there are many other little stories like the one we read today. But it is important to read each little story within the context of the larger story cycle in which it is found. For the nation of Israel, receiving the covenant at Mount Sinai (Exodus 20-24), each of these story cycles in Genesis asked and answered a fundamental question of identity:
*Origins story cycle (chs. 1-11): Why is God making this covenant with us? Because this world is the creation and kingdom of God, and it is in civil war against God.
*Abraham story cycle (chs. 12-25): Who are we that God should come to us with this covenant? We are the descendents of the chosen son of Abraham, through whom the covenant was originated.
*Jacob story cycle (chs. 26-36): What is our character? We are tricksters and con artists like our father Jacob, but we are also "Israel" like him -- those who wrestle with God.
*Joseph story cycle (chs. 37-50): Why were we in Egypt rather than in the land of God's promise to Abraham? Because of a famine and Joseph's protective care.
When these two literary structures are overlaid, some helpful interpretive ideas emerge for today's reading. First, since the nation of Israel lingering at Mount Sinai is searching for its identity, it must encounter the origins of its name. "Israel" emerges from "Jacob," and each of those names deepens its identity. Here, in brief summary, the character of "Jacob" is revealed. Jacob is a fighter (v. 22). Jacob is discontent (v. 23). Jacob makes his own way in life (v. 26). Jacob is quiet but shrewd (v. 27). Jacob is a "Mama's Boy" (v. 28). Jacob is cunning (v. 31). Jacob has no family loyalty (v. 33).
Regardless of how favored the nation of Israel might have felt in its recent release from Egypt and slavery, this story of origins must have caused them to pause. They were born of tainted stock. Deception and scrappiness was bred in their bones. They made every neighborhood in which they lived unsafe.
Second, the reality of God's special plan for Jacob's life was revealed already at birth. Despite opposition, despite second-son disfavored status, despite scrawniness, despite machismo, Jacob would carry the baton in the relay race of God's special blessing. So it is with Israel. Size is not guarantee of success (cf. Israel versus Egypt). But neither is scrappiness -- Jacob does not get the prize on his own strength, no matter how cunning he may be. It is God's prize to offer and God's prize to give.
Third, carrying the baton in the relay race of the Genesis covenant story does not guarantee peace and delight. It actually brings Jacob into constant struggle, as evinced in his birthing battle with his brother. Jacob will not become "Israel" -- one who wrestles with God -- until Jacob has lived a long time on a very unsafe battlefield.
Romans 8:1-11
The Heidelberg Catechism, written by Oleveanus and Ursinus in the capital city of the Palatinate of the Holy Roman Empire in 1563, is a great resource for understanding Paul's letter to the Romans. Oleveanus and Ursinus used the structure of Paul's argument to shape their summary of the Christian faith. In large outline, each document is developed in three sections that may be headed sin (Romans 1-3), salvation (Romans 4-11), and service (Romans 12-16). The plight of humanity (Romans 1-3) calls out the redemptive care of God (Romans 4-11) which creates a new consciousness of what it means to be in God's family (Romans 12-16). Here in Romans 8, Paul brings great confidence to those he took through the dicey spiritual struggles of chapters 6-7. Now confidence rings out, not because we move out of an unsafe neighborhood into a safe one, but because the power of Jesus is greater than the power of evil that resides within us.
Paul ties spiritual growth and victory directly to Good Friday and Easter in the bookends of this passage (8:1-3, 10-11). A recent award-winning song plays out this theme in a rather down-to-earth way. In Tim McGraw's musical tale, "Live Like You Were Dying," the singer meets a man who was told that he has cancer and that his lifespan has just shrunk to less than a calendar. Instead of self-pity, the victim relates that he found a new lease on life. He began to live each day as if it were his last, and only do the important things. The narrator in the song carries that thought ahead into a new place, telling what the important things of life really might be:
The dying man first tells of some things he had just done that freedom from the fear of dying made possible, like sky diving, mountain climbing, and bull riding. But then he adds some more meaningful things he had done as well: "and I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter and I gave forgiveness I'd been denying." He goes on to say that he was finally being the husband, friend, and son that he should have been all along. He concludes:
Well, I finally read the good book
and I took a good, long, hard look
at what I'd do if I could do it all again....
Paul speaks of the battles of the spirit in each of us, and the choices we have to make to live in ways that matter. We all live in unsafe neighborhoods (such as the battlegrounds of our own inner turmoil and the passions pulling at our hearts), but we still need to choose how we will live in those neighborhoods.
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Jesus' parable of the four soils is sometimes misinterpreted. It is not about the sower or the seed; it is about the soils. A little understanding of first-century Palestinian farming technique is needed to understand what Jesus is saying. In many places of the world, a seedbed is prepared at the end of the previous harvest. Most farmland across the plains of North America are plowed or harrowed in the fall to break up the topsoil in anticipation of spring planting. Not so in ancient Palestine. Once the grain crops were harvested in late spring, the fields were left untouched. A series of events then unfolded that would make Jesus' words much more understandable.
First would come the gleaners. These were the poor people in the neighborhood who would gather stray stalks to reap leftover grain for their meal tables. Next, the cattle would be turned loose into the fields to sniff through the stubble and find kernels that had fallen. The cattle would be a kind of final harvest cleanup crew. Then, however, the fields would become a sort of regional public park where people could wander where they wanted. All people lived in villages or towns and the farmland they owned or worked ringed those villages and towns. During the growing season most were occupied with working the land, but once the harvest had been taken in, trading season began. The traders could travel between villages more directly if they created paths through the fields. Hence, hard-surfaced walkways emerged, and through the summer months weeds would grow wherever they could find moisture.
When winter arrived, and planting time came, the farmers would scope out the boundary lines between fields, scatter their seed, and then plow under all that was on the surface -- regular soil, hard-packed path, and weeds.
Now the meaning of Jesus' tale becomes more clear. The sower scatters seed indiscriminately, even among weeds (which are about to be plowed under), even over rocks (which are not visible because of the stubble), and even on the path (because it is only a temporary traffic pattern). The sower is not wasting good seed, but merely following the best farming customs of the region. When the seed has been scattered, the farmer will come through with a wooden plow harnessed to an ox, and drag open the soils to accept the seed while rooting up the weeds and the path.
All seeds have equal chance to survive, except that not all soils will nurture that life well. Some parts of the field have given themselves over to weeds that are not easily killed with a single pass of the plow. There the weeds, with their deep roots, will survive the farmer's tilling, and will have a head start on the tiny roots that finally germinate from the recent seeding. Some parts of the field will have been packed too hard by the travelers' footprints, and the seeds will sprout quickly, but their fragile roots will not find the moisture of the earth because of a hardpan barrier lingering from the path. Some parts of the field will hide rocks that kill young plants even after they have gotten a promising start.
The meaning, said Jesus, is clear. We all live in unsafe neighborhoods like any farmer's field in Palestine. But, while the seeds and the soils connect in unalterable ways under the farmer's care, the spiritual seed given by God lands on hearts that can change their complexion. We can be our own worst enemies and stiffen up like the path, bouncing the seed elsewhere. We can be hypocritical and deceptive, like the rocky soil which promises more than it delivers. We can lack nerve or will, and twist with prevailing winds of culture, much as the soil still full of old weed roots was. We are the soil, and we can choose to change. We control the relative safety of our own inner spiritual neighborhoods.
Application
A great application for all three of these passages is the story of the 1,000 marbles. It serves to remind each of us that we live in unsafe neighborhoods, but that we can choose to make them come alive with spiritual significance if we keep in step with the Covenant (Genesis 25), the Spirit (Romans 8), or the Sower (Matthew 13).
This is purported to be a conversation over a ham radio set one Saturday morning:
"Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well, but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter's dance recital." He continued, "Let me tell you something Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities."
And that's when he began to explain his theory of "1,000 marbles." "You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about 75 years. I know, some live more and some less, but on average, folks live about 75 years.
"Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3,900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in his/her entire lifetime. Now, stick with me, Tom, I'm getting to the important part.
"It took me until I was 55 years old to think about all this in any detail," he went on, "and by that time I had lived through over 2,800 Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be 75, I only had about 1,000 of them left to enjoy.
"So, I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to roundup 1,000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside a large, clear plastic container right here in the shack next to my gear. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away.
"I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help you get your priorities straight.
"Now, let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday, then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time.
"It was nice to meet you, Tom. I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again."
The application naturally follows. In fact, it could be well illustrated by a jar of marbles and the encouragement for others to go out and buy some.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23. Jesus' parable of the soils begs to be treated by itself. Jesus gives a fine story and also interprets it for us. A fitting message could tease out four images, each related to one of the kinds of soils that felt the seed land on it.
The first image could be that of "historical faith" which shapes the life of one who grew up in the church, but only adopted it as a cultural expression and not as a personal belief. The second image could be that of "experiential faith" which is professed in the hyper-charged atmosphere of an emotional appeal (retreat or conference setting), but lost quickly when other cares and concerns set in. The third image could be that of "foxhole faith" which is declared in times of great crisis as a sort of bargaining chip with God, but which sounds hollow and silly after the crisis passes. The fourth image could be that of "saving faith" which is as natural to a person's character as crops are to good farmland, and which consistently yields a winning spiritual harvest.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 119:105-112
Psalm 119 is a rich treasure-trove of wisdom. The longest of the psalms, it follows an unusual acrostic design, with 22 sections each beginning with a different letter of the Hebrew alphabet. This particular section is filled with various wisdom sayings, of which verse 105 is by far the most familiar: "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path."
That verse offers a familiar, yet important, theme for preaching: an opportunity to teach about the authority of scripture. What can we say about scripture, based on this verse? Several things:
1. Scripture provides illumination for our lives. Seduced by our society's technological might, we have come to believe that we provide our own illumination. This was not true for the ancients, who knew better. Marcus Borg has written, "The symbolism of light and darkness is ancient, archetypal, and cross-cultural. It has many rich resonances of meaning. Darkness is associated with blindness, night, sleep, cold, gloom, despair, lostness, chaos, death, danger, and yearning for the dawn. It is a striking image of the human condition. Light is seen as the antidote to the above, and is thus an image of salvation. In the light, one is awake, able to see and find one's way; it is associated with relief and rejoicing that the night is over; in the light one is safe and warm. In the light there is life." (From "The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions," by Marcus J. Borg and N. T. Wright, in the Christian Century, December 16, 1998, pp. 1218-1221.)
2. The illumination that scripture provides is indirect lighting. Many of us have indirect lighting in our homes. It provides beauty as well as functionality. The lamp mentioned in the psalm shines downward, at the portion of the path immediately ahead. It does not project a spotlight's brilliant glare far down the road, as do many modern electric lights. The "lamp to my feet" is more modest than that. Scripture is more like a simple flashlight than a set of automobile high beams. Yet at the slow pace of foot travel, it is really all a traveler needs. In the words of Jewish biblical scholar Abraham Joseph Heschel, "The surest way of misunderstanding revelation is take it literally, to imagine that God spoke to the prophet on a long-distance telephone. The truth is that things and words stand for different meanings in different situations. Gold means wealth to the merchant, a means of adornment to the jeweler, and kindness to the rhetorician (a golden heart). Light is a form of energy to the physicist, a medium of loveliness to the artist, and an expression of grandeur in the first chapter of the Bible. Ruah, the Hebrew word for spirit, signifies also breath, wind, and direction. And he who thinks only of breath, forfeits the deeper meaning of the word...." (From Between God and Man by Abraham Joseph Heschel [New York: Free Press, 1997].)
3. Scripture is meant to be a constant companion, a light we carry with us. In technically advanced societies like our own, we have long since ceased to be familiar with true darkness. Our cities and towns are constantly washed with light. Starlight is all but unknown. For biblical people, much of life after sundown was lived in darkness. The light a lamp provided was modest and limited. If you ventured out most nights, a lamp was no luxury; it was a necessity. It could be the one thing that kept wild animals at bay, and that kept you from getting lost. Referring to the study of scripture, Harry Emerson Fosdick said, "Read until you stumble upon yourself on its pages." The light of scripture does so much more than illumine the road ahead. It illumines our lives as well.
